Hermione Granger Meets Fandom
by tamlane
Summary: There will be slash, drug use, crude humor, impossible plot devices, Mary-Sue-isms galore, desperate!Ron, ghetto!Harry, more Malfoy personalities than you can count, and a very confused Hermione Granger. Special appearances by your favourite authors.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:   
**I own nothing. (And once this fic gets going properly, I'll probably be wishing I didn't own _it_, either.)

**A/N:** I beg you in advance to forgive me for what you are about to read. I just needed a break from _Diagon Venus_. This is completely random idiocy, and I strongly suggest you get out while the gettin's good.

* * *

_**Hermione Granger Meets Fandom   
**_Prologue – "Meeting of the Minds" 

In a big, candlelit room somewhere in fandom, a not-so-pretty but very witty twenty-something author conjures up a microfibre recliner and sits down in a huff. She would cross her legs in a huff as well, but she hasn't been able to _get_ them crossed for about four years now. Okay, so she's not _that_ fat, but she does have the unfortunate Scotch-Irish ghetto thighs. She also has a plan. She gives a little tug on the chain-link leash attached to the neck of Author #2 in order to get her attention.

"I just knew it, Pallas," she bites out. "Nobody's gonna show."

Author #2, a lovely Dutch girl, crosses her arms and taps her foot impatiently on the marble floor. "Good," she says. "Can I go now?"

"Hell no!" replies yours truly. "You're mine now, bitch. And you're not going anywhere until you've finished _Grey_."

"I knew it was a mistake to mess with you Harry Potter people," Pallas mumbles. "Where is Vegeta when I need him?"

There is a sound of a clicking keyboard and several "pops" and then a small group of women arrive, giggling.

"Ah, Inell," yours truly purrs. "I see you brought the gang. Please have a seat." With a wave of her pen, a large sofa appears, on which Inell, Lady Draherm, Procella Nox-noctis and Zaralya all sit down, looking almost as huffy as Pallas.

"Who _are_ you, anyway?" Lady Draherm asks.

"I don't expect _you_ to know," yours truly responds. "It's not like you've ever bothered to _review_ me or anything."

"Oh, please," says Procella Nox-noctis. "_You_ are the biggest lurker in fandom, tamlane. Really, we should ban you from quietones."

"Enough, 'Cella!" tamlane replies. "Don't make me turn that jumper pink."

"She doesn't review you?" Pallas remarks off-handedly. "Hmmm... _I _can't get her to _shut up_. Her damn reviews of _Grey_ are the equivalent of short cookies."

"Who are _you_?" 'Cella demands. "And why are you on a leash?"

"Oh, you probably don't know her," tamlane explains. "This is Pallas Athena1. She normally writes Dragon Ball Z fics, but she has recently branched out into the realm of LM/HG. And she's on a leash because she's been a bad little author. She actually has chapters written that she hasn't _posted_ yet."

All four ladies on the sofa gasp and put their hands over their mouths in horror.

"And I've been meaning to talk to the four of you," tamlane says, ignoring Pallas' dirty glare. "Need I remind the _Charming & Wise_ girls of the marvel that is Blaise Zabini? O&U is sinking, people! Come on!"

Inell grins wickedly. "Okay, maybe we _do_ get a little carried away, but Adrian Pucey is just so—"

They do not get to hear what Pucey is, however, because at that moment there is another "pop" and SkoosiePants appears. She conjures herself a recliner and begins laughing demonically. "HA!," she exclaims. "After _Stranded_, I knew it was only a matter of time! You want to write a parody, _don't_ you, tamlane? _Well_, let me assure you that your sense of humor will _never_ compare to mine."

Tamlane just purses her lips in frustration because she knows this is true.

"A parody?" inquires Zaralya, grinning her mischievous grin.

POP! POP!

Two near-death-like figures appear out of nowhere. One of them is frantically clutching a pillow to her chest and mumbling incoherently. The other one brandishes a coffee pot.

"Where's the damn outlet?!" screams the one with the coffee pot. "It's an emergency!"

Her friend has bags under her eyes. "Where are we?" she asks. "Is there coffee? Is that you, tamlane?" This author has the most beautiful eyes in the world and is known by the penname silverphoenix3.

Tamlane abruptly lets go of Pallas' leash and throws herself prostrate at silverphoenix' feet. "I LOVE YOU, TASHA!!!" she screams. "_The Importance of Ancient Runes_ changed my life!!! You are a GODDESS!!!"

"Enough of the drama," silverphoenix replies, throwing her pillow across the room. "What the hell do you want? You _know_ that metallicafangirl and I are doing NaNoWriMo! And we only have 11 more days to go, and I'm only up to...oh, hell, I don't even know anymore."

"Sorry," says tamlane with a sheepish grin, resuming her position in the recliner. "This won't take long."

There is yet another "pop," and another twenty-something author appears. She takes a look around, obviously very confused, and then yells, "Trademark law!" which, of course, causes everyone to look at her as though she is insane.

"Hi, Dixi," says tamlane. "Give the girl some coffee, metallicafangirl. She's in law school, and it's almost exam time."

"Now," says tamlane, "we're only missing one person. Where is that little devil, anyway?"

POP!

Xylitol arrives, flashing chapter 9 of _Not Quite a Drug_ in front of everyone's face teasingly.

"Okay," tamlane replies. "NOW we can begin. I've gathered you all here because I think you are the greatest HP fanfic authors in fandom. Your stories have made me laugh, cry, giggle, cringe, beg for more, and do...er, _other_ things that I don't feel comfortable talking about in public. Anyway, so here we are."

"That's it?" says silverphoenix. "Holy shit, we came all the way here for _that_?! Why don't you just write a bloody _review_ once in awhile, instead of wasting our time like _this_?"

Silverphoenix3 and metallicafangirl promptly return to the world of NaNoWriMo, cursing tamlane's family for generations to come.

"Er," says Dixi, "I gotta go, too. Besides, I've only written one cookie. And you people are freaking addicts. See you at FAP."

The crowd dwindles quickly. Lady Draherm gets a wild burst of inspiration and decides to go update _Their Curse_ (hint, hint). SkoosiePants realises that there will not be any Draco/Ron action and Disapparates, rolling her eyes. Xylitol thinks this whole thing is pointless and follows Skoosie, telling tamlane she will check back in on her when she gets a clue.

"Well," tamlane says with a sigh, looking from Pallas to Inell to 'Cella to Zaralya. "I guess that just leaves the five of us."

"So, what's the plan?" asks Zaralya. "We don't have to write anything, do we? Because you know me, I just like throwing around plot bunnies."

"Yes, you are the queen of plot bunnies, Zaralya" concedes 'Cella.

"Nobody has to write anything. This is a way bigger job than writing. I have come up with a device that will actually transport one of you into fandom, and I need someone to be Hermione Granger's guide through a series of events relating to the mockery of fanfiction itself."

"Wait a minute," interrupts Inell. "You mean, like Hermione lost in fandom?"

"Exactly. And all of the other characters will know that it's a fic. Just think of the possibilities! There will be slash, crude humor, impossible plot devices, Mary-Sue-isms galore, desperate!Ron, ghetto!Harry, more Malfoy personalities than you can count, and a very, very confused Hermione Granger."

"Ghetto!Harry?" asks 'Cella.

Tamlane gives another sheepish smile. "I _love_ ghetto!Harry," she admits.

"That's it," says 'Cella. "I'm out of here."

Tamlane pouts. "Then I guess we're down to two," she says.

"Two?" asks Zaralya. "But there are four of us."

"_I_ don't count, though," tamlane responds. "_I'm_ the one writing this gods-awful thing. And Pallas is not allowed off her leash until she promises us some good ole-fashioned smut. She's been teasing us for entirely too long. Which only leaves the two of you."

"I'll do it," Inell announces. "My four hundred livejournal communities and Yahoo! groups will just have to go on hold temporarily."

"I knew I could count on you, Inell."

"Yeah, yeah... flattery will get you nowhere. Just promise me one thing."

"Yes?"

"That this will be a D/Hr fic."

"You know that Ron will be really upset," Zaralya comments matter-of-factly.

"Who cares?" they all agree.

"All right, Inell. Even though I hate the little Malfoy fucker, I'll do my best. Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

"One more question, tamlane," says Zaralya. "Do you honestly think anyone is going to read this?"

"Gods," tamlane replies with a heavy sigh, "_I hope not._"


	2. Reality Bites

**Disclaimer:   
**I own nothing. (And once this fic gets going properly, I'll probably be wishing I didn't own _it_, either.)

**A/N:** Well, hell. Here we go again. Many thanks to my O&U girls for reading and reviewing. And a very special thanks to my Scottish boyfriend, who struggled for about 2 hours today to get this damn laptop set up for me. We (well, _he_) had to look all over the flat for various pieces of the computer, and he was on the phone with several different ISPs for quite some time. Oh, yeah. He is guaranteed a blow job. But I didn't just say that. And by the way, if anyone can help me figure out how to arrange these chapters so that I actually have a prologue, please email me. I am hopelessly late-twenty-something, after all.

* * *

**_Hermione Granger Meets Fandom   
_**The Next Chapter: "Reality Bites" 

Hermione Granger adjusts her robes, grabs her cart, and prepares to follow her two best friends through the barrier to Platform 9¾. She is about to get on the train that will take her to her sixth year at Hogwarts, and she doesn't know _what_ to expect. But surely, she thinks, it will be better than the previous year. After all, she got straight Os on her O.W.L.s, there is a new Minister of Magic (and who really cares who it is?), and Ron's body has finally caught up with his feet. Yes, it is gearing up to be a great year.

When she crosses the barrier, however, she gets her first clue that something is dreadfully wrong. Neville Longbottom is snogging Luna Lovegood, Ginny is wearing a leather mini-skirt and halter top, a curly-haired Italian boy that Hermione doesn't know is ogling her shamelessly, and Harry and Ron–who were just ahead of her–are nowhere to be found. (There is also an uncanny absence of adults.) She decides that Harry and Ron must have made a beeline for an empty compartment, so she proceeds to the nearest door of the train and begins loading her trunk.

Just as she manages to haul her trunk up the first step, she sees something that nearly causes her to faint. Instead of losing consciousness, however, she merely drops her trunk, spilling all of her personal belongings onto the platform. Draco Malfoy has a new hairstyle and looks like sex in a robe. Furthermore, he is surrounded by giggling girls from every single Hogwarts house. They appear to be asking for..._autographs_? She slams her eyes shut and takes a deep breath. When she opens them again, she sees that Ginny Weasley has fought her way to the front of Malfoy's adoring fans, and Malfoy has his hand up her halter top. She closes her eyes again, completely ignoring her spilt belongings until she hears a sexy purr at her ear–

"Need some help, kitten?"

_Kitten?!_ Did someone just call her _kitten?!_ She whips around to find a brown-haired seventh-year undressing her with his blue-green eyes. Isn't he a Slytherin? What's his name again?

"Adrian Pucey," he says, as though reading her mind, "at your service."

She tries to speak. Her efforts are futile, of course. She just stands there numbly watching as this Pucey bloke helps her repack her trunk. She looks down to find that her personal belongings now consist of things that she would _never_ have in her possession. There are stacks of romance novels, pieces of parchment that have "Hermione Zabini" written all over them amidst hearts, polaroids of her and...MALFOY?! And then...NO!!!"

"Who would have guessed?" Pucey comments with a smile as he holds up a 10-inch black dildo.

She fights back a gag and reluctantly grabs the dildo out of Pucey's hands. It bobbles back and forth as she shakes it in his face. "This is NOT MINE!!!" she yells, absently tossing it into Malfoy's crowd of fangirls. She notices in horror that one of them picks it up and puts in in her pocket. Everything suddenly goes black.

When she awakes, she is startled to find herself in a compartment completely alone. Her trunk is carefully stashed away, and she is almost tempted to open it as the memory of the dildo comes crashing back upon her. Was this Fred and George's idea of a very sick joke? Then she remembers that she is supposed to be in the compartment at the front of the train with the rest of the prefects. She jolts from her seat, re-adjusts her robes, and is about to head out the door when she hears the blaring sound of hip-hop music. Harry comes strutting in through the compartment door.

Only _this_ is not the same Harry with whom she was standing at King's Cross only minutes before.

_This_ Harry has an emormous boombox on his shoulder and looks like he might topple over at any minute from the sheer weight of gold around his neck. His trousers are held up by a belt somewhere around his knees and he wears a baggy T-shirt that says "TUPAC R.I.P." There is a huge spliff hanging loosely from his lips, filling the surrounding air with heavy smoke. She can just make out the lyrics of the thumping music–

_Inhale, exhale   
Just got an ounce in the mail   
I like a blunt or a big phat cone   
But my double-barrell bong is gettin' me stoned..._

"Harry?" she exclaims over the music. She coughs and waves her hand in front of her face to try to clear some of the smoke. "Is that you?"

"Whassup, ho?" he drawls with a grin. He seems to be very interested in her breasts all of a sudden. "DAMN, baby gurl, you lookin' HOTT this year!"

She tries to remain conscious. She jerks the boombox off his shoulder, groaning under its weight, and manages to press the "Stop" button. "What is going on here?" she demands.

"Chill, baby," Harry replies smoothly. His hands reach for her hips, and she jumps back in horror. "It ain't nothin' but a THANG."

"Harry?" she repeats weakly. "Is that really _you_? What _happened _to you?" She can't help but notice that _this _Harry is about forty times prettier than the Harry_ she_ knows. And pretty is the only way to describe it–with or without the bling-bling.

Harry throws himself down onto one of the seats and smirks up at her, Malfoy-style.

"I mean," she continues despite herself, "other than the fact that you've obviously resorted to wearing Hagrid's trousers, you're bloody..._hot_."

"That's cuz the actor who plays me has got it goin' on," he answers. Then he reaches out and actually grabs her arse. "When you gonna give me a lil sumpin, sumpin?"

"A little WHAT?" she yells, smacking his hand away. She closes her eyes again. "Please," she mumbles, "please tell me this is just a really strange dream."

"It ain't no dream, baby," he says. She begins to get light-headed from the thick smoke. Thankfully, Harry momentarily lapses back into his usual accent. "You see, Hermione," he explains, "I am the hero, so no one can figure out exactly how to write me. For all intents and purposes, therefore, I am just going to be ghetto!Harry for the duration of this fic because that's what amuses the author. She's a hip-hop girl." He then goes back to his ghetto-talk, waving the joint in front of her face. "Wanna toke?"

"I don't smoke marijuana!" she announces assertively. "And neither do you!" She grabs the blunt and tosses it out the window.

"HEY!" Harry exclaims. "Why you hatin'?"

Ron suddenly comes bursting in through the compartment door, thankfully looking like...well, _Ron_. "Hermione!" he pleads frantically, "There you are! You've got to come with me right now!"

Before she has time to answer, Ron begins guiding her down the corridor, nearly yanking her arm out of the socket. He pulls her into yet another empty compartment. (Isn't the train usually more crowded than this? Where_ is_ everyone?) He quickly locks the door and begins muttering spells to darken and silence the compartment.

"Thank goodness!" Hermione exclaims. "At least _you_ seem to be normal! What on earth is going on with Harry?"

She does not get the answer she is looking for. Instead, she gets jerked into Ron's arms, and he begins snogging her uncontrollably. She tries to scream, but, alas, his tongue is wrapped around her tonsils. She struggles and finally manages to free herself long enough to shout, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU _DOING_, RON?!"

His voice is frantic and strained. "It must be done!" he demands. "The author of this fic has a terrible urge to pair you with Malfoy, and I won't stand for it! She's already written one fic where you're a _romance columnist_!"

"The author?" Hermione inquires. "What author?"

"What does it matter?" Ron pleads. "Just kiss me, baby!"

"What are you...MMMMMPHHHHHHHHHH!"

It is at this point that a brown-haired Texan in glasses comes crashing through the door, brandishing a pen. (She would have been here sooner if Lady Draherm hadn't updated.) "Back away from the know-it-all, Weasley!" she says. "I'm warning you. You touch one more button on her shirt, and I'll make sure the author has you shagging Neville Longbottom!"

"NO!" Ron spits back emphatically. "You can't do this! We're the GOOD SHIP!"

"Over my dead body," replies the Texan through gritted teeth. "Hermione will NEVER be a Weasley! Besides, your ship is so _boring_."

"What is a 'ship'?" Hermione asks. "And who are you?"

The Texan straightens herself up a bit and clears her throat. "_I_ am Inell," she responds calmly, as though that should explain the whole situation. When Hermione gives her a blank look, she continues, "Inell? I am the most prolific fanfic writer of all time! I have been known to write 117 quality cookies in one day. Although–" she goes on in a mumble "–that damn Procella has been pretty active lately."

"What are cookies?" Hermione questions her.

Inell sighs heavily and grabs Hermione by her robes. "She's coming with me, Weasley," Inell answers. "We have a lot of ground to cover. Don't worry, Hermione. It's all going to be OK. In fact, you're about to have a lot of fun."


	3. Inell Explains It All

**Disclaimer:** Nope, still don't own it.

**A/N: **A million, trillion thanks to my homegirls at _quietones_. I am dedicating this chapter to 'Cella, whose enthusiasm really should not be allowed. :P

* * *

_**Hermione Granger Meets Fandom  
**_Chapter 3 (or 2, rather) – "Inell Explains It All"

Inell manages to find yet another empty compartment and drags Hermione inside. "Okay," she tells Hermione, "do the _Silencio _thing or whatever you do. I mean, not that it really matters. All the other characters know what's going on. But maybe you should lock the door because half the school wants to shag you."

"_Shag_ me?" Hermione exclaims. She thinks about it for a moment and then asks the question with a different intonation. "Shag _me_?"

"Well, of course," Inell replies. "Are you going to lock the door or not?"

"Can't you do it?"

"No," Inell answers bitingly. "Unfortunately, I am not a witch. I'll leave the spells up to you, and you leave the plot up to me. (Although I'm not writing this one...thank Merlin.)"

"I'm confused," Hermione admits, locking the compartment door. "You make it sound like I'm a character in a story or something."

"Bingo," Inell says with a grin. "They don't call you a know-it-all for nothing, do they?"

Hermione tries to look cross, but she decides that answers are more important than verbal sparring at the moment. "So none of this is real?"

"Oh, Hermione," Inell whispers, shaking her head, "none of this has _ever_ been real. You are merely a character in a series created by a brilliant woman named J.K. Rowling. And you're not even the _main _character. _Tha_t would be Harry."

"Well, that explains why everything always happens to him." Hermione begins pacing, and suddenly her eyes light up with realisation. "I get it!" she declares. "I am the voice of reason in the story, right?"

"Who did you expect to be the voice of reason? Ron?"

"Good point. So my life is nothing but fiction. I can handle that. But it still does not explain why Harry is smoking pot and listening to rap music, and Malfoy is surrounded by giggling girls."

Inell chuckles, crosses her legs, and removes her glasses. She shakes her head again and begins cleaning her glasses on her imitation Slytherin robes ($29.99 tax at the Warner Bros website). "You might want to sit down," she says.

Hermione reluctantly takes Inell up on her offer. She strongly considers conjuring a pen and a piece of parchment in order to take notes, but now does not seem to be the time or place for that. "All right," she concedes. "I'm sitting. Please explain."

"You see," Inell begins patiently, "everyone loves Harry Potter."

Hermione "tuts" loudly. "I knew _that_."

"Not the actual person," Inell continues. "And please, no more interruptions. I like you and everything, but I do have better things to do with my time. I own and moderate more Yahoo! Groups than you can shake a stick at." She ignores Hermione's blank expression and decides to refrain from further random internet references.

"As I was saying, everyone loves Harry Potter—as in the books. They were originally written for a young adult audience, but grown women like myself have become quite addicted to them. And, being the hopeless romantics that we are, we are determined to infinitely assess the relationship possibilities within the books."

"Like what?" Hermione asks suspiciously. "There's no _romance_ at Hogwarts."

"_Au contraire, mon cheri_," Inell replies with a wink. "The author who created you and Harry and everyone else has been giving us little hints at romance all along. It's quite frustrating, actually."

"Hints? What hints?"

"Well, the most popular ship, for example, is Hermione and Ron."

"Ron and me?" Hermione says. "But we can't go five minutes without arguing!"

Inell just looks at Hermione knowingly.

"Oh," Hermione adds with a sheepish grin. "But why do you call it a _ship_?"

"It's short for _relation_ship. Plus, there's the whole boat metaphor. You know... if I like you and Ron together, then I'm _sailing the R/Hr ship_. If I then decide at a later time that I'd rather see you with Harry, then I'm _jumping ship_. And if, by some odd chance, we all lose interest in you and Harry, then we say the _ship is sinking_. Furthermore, the word _ship_ can be used as a noun, adjective or verb. It's very versatile."

"Wait a minute," Hermione interjects. "I'm going to need an example."

"All right," Inell concedes. She knew this was going to be complicated. Hell, she only agreed to it in the first place for the random possibility of getting to snog Lucius Malfoy. "I'll give you some examples. _Ship_ can be a noun, as in, 'What _ship_ do you sail?' Or an adjective, as in, 'This fic is too _shippy_ for me.' Or a verb, as in, 'I _ship_ Ron and Hermione.' Make sense?"

"Yes," Hermione replies. "In a really stupid and nonsensical way that makes me think you all have way too much time on your hands."

"Oh, we do, darling," Inell affirms. "_We do._"

"And where is the evidence for this absurdity?" Hermione questions Inell. Typical Hermione. She always needs evidence, doesn't she?

"Take, for example, Book 3," Inell says.

"Book 3?"

"The books correspond to your years at school. So Book 3 would be about—"

"Oh, when we found out about Sirius," Hermione says. "That was also the year I went a little..._mental_."

"You have no idea. We love you for that big ole slap you gave Malfoy."

"Yeah," Hermione admits with a dreamy smile, "that was certainly the pinnacle of my youth."

"And because of that random outburst, there are people who think you are destined to be with Malfoy."

"WHAT?!" Hermione screams. "Are they _CRAZY_?"

"The author of this fic seems to think so," Inell mumbles.

"And what, pray tell, is a _fic_?"

"I'm getting there. Merlin, you're impatient."

"You just told me that people are _'shipping'_ Malfoy and me!" Hermione exclaims, her cheeks bright red. "I hate him! HE hates ME! Wouldn't _you_ be a little impatient?"

"_Touché_," Inell replies. "The term _fic_ is short for fanfiction. Writing fanfiction is what we do with all of this spare time."

"When you're not shipping, that is," Hermione bites back bitterly.

"But that's the whole point!" Inell explains. "We write fanfiction in order to play out these fantasies we have about you and your sordid affairs."

"Sordid affairs?!" Hermione yells. "Well, now you just sound like Rita Skeeter."

"You know," Inell says, tapping her index finger on her lip thoughtfully, "you might be onto something there. Maybe Rowling was poking fun at us fanfiction authors with the character of Rita Skeeter."

"If the shoe fits—"

"Okay, okay. So we get a little freaky from time to time. Can you blame us? We hate our jobs, we're stressed out over school, and our boyfriends don't appreciate us. Surely you can understand that."

Hermione thinks briefly of her own stressful studies and of Ron's complete idiocy and shrugs her shoulders. "Okay," she says. "I guess I can see why you would act so odd."

"Thank you," Inell spits sarcastically. "Now that you approve, I'll just be moving on. Really, we have a lot of ground to cover."

"So you've said," Hermione responds. "Fanfiction, shipping, Malfoy and me..." Hermione cringes. "What else is there?"

"Well," Inell adds, shifting nervously, "there is also a little something called slash. But I don't think you're ready for that just yet. We'll save that one for a rainy day."

Thankfully, Hermione does not ask questions.

"Anyway," Inell continues, "we are in a fic right now. (A really meaningless one, by the way, that the author is using as a delay tactic because she can't figure out what to do with you and Blaise.)"

"Blaise?"

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough, I'm sure. The author is huge Blaise/Hermione shipper. Don't you see? This is your chance to do anything you've ever wanted to do without consequences!"

"Like win a Wizarding Nobel prize for freeing house elves?" Hermione suggests excitedly.

"No, that's boring," Inell tells her. "Nobody cares about the bloody house elves. Really. Not when you could be shagging a Slytherin."

"Why does it have to be a Slytherin?" Hermione pleads, somewhat deflated over having her house-elf liberation called boring.

"Oh, darling," Inell whispers knowingly, "just_ try_ one and you'll see. It doesn't have to be Malfoy. The authors of these fics don't really care."

"Who else is there?" Hermione asks with a snort. "Crabbe and Goyle?"

"Actually, I don't think I've ever read a Crabbe-Goyle-Hermione fic," Inell replies thoughtfully, getting ideas she should not be getting. After a moment, she says, "No, that's just not right. But anyone else is fair game. There are even fics where you are paired with...brace yourself...Marcus Flint."

"What?!" Hermione makes gagging noises. "You mean the bloke who bears an uncanny resemblance to the troll in our first year?"

"None other."

"That is truly disgusting."

"Watch it. I've paired you with Flint myself. And then there's Adrian Pucey. I never guessed _that_ one would take off so well."

"Well, that's not too bad, I guess," Hermione responds, thinking back to the gorgeous seventh-year who helped her repack her trunk.

"Yeah, Adrian is sexy because he insists on calling you kitten," Inell says dreamily.

Hermione blushes.

"Moving on up the food chain, we have the brooding and quiet but deliciously alluring Blaise Zabini."

"Yeah, you've mentioned him. Who is he?"

"No one really knows," Inell answers. "In fact, we didn't even get confirmation that he was a boy until a few months ago. Not like _that _was going to stop us."

"I get the impression it would take an Unforgiveable Curse to stop you people."

"Now you're catching on. And some writers like to pair you with Snape."

"SNAPE?! You mean, the greasy, slimy, idiotic, ex-Death-Eater Potions professor Snape?!"

"I know it sounds crazy," Inell croons, patting Hermione on the leg sympathetically. "But it's all because of Alan Rickman. He plays Snape in the movies, and he's just too sexy to be allowed."

"There are movies?"

"Indeed."

"W-what do I-I look like?"

"Gorgeous, of course."

Hermione raises one eyebrow suspiciously.

"Well, gorgeous in the girl-next-door, low-key kind of way."

"And my hair?" Hermione asks self-consciously.

"We love your hair," Inell assures her. "Do you have any idea how many of us struggle with frizzy hair? You're like our role model."

Hermione forgets about her hair as an even worse thought comes to mind. "There aren't any...Hermione and...V-Voldemort shippers, are there?" she asks weakly.

Inell clears her throat. "I personally refuse to read that trash," she replies. "But yes, there are. And you've been in fics with Draco's dad, as well."

"But he's a Death-Eater! And he tried to get Buckbeak killed! For that matter, he tried to get ME killed!"

"Two words," Inell replies. "Jason Isaacs. And everyone loves the sexy, control-freak older man."

"I don't," Hermione spits assertively. "_Yuk._"

"And then there's Sirius, of course."

"Sirius?! But he's old enough to be my father! And he's—"

"SHHHHH!!!!!" Inell commands. "Don't go there. The author doesn't want to have to include a spoiler."

"A spoiler?"

"Totally irrelevant. The point is that being—_you know what_—doesn't stop Sirius from being the biggest stud-puppy to ever go through Hogwarts. This author named aleximoon did a great job with the Hr/SB ship, but we've just about given up on her. She hasn't updated in three months."

"Surely you don't mean to tell me that all these fics are about me?" Hermione says suddenly. "I mean, Lavender and Parvati are a lot prettier. And Tonks is older and more experienced. And Pansy—"

"Is Pansy," Inell says with a slight gagging noise. "Actually, your biggest competition is Ginny Weasley. But even Ginny doesn't hold a candle to you."

"I don't understand," Hermione whispers. "If no one cares about house-elves, then why would they want to write about me?"

"You don't get it, do you?" Inell shoots back with a delicate smile, her blue-green eyes shining brightly. "We _love_ you. You are _us_. Most of us, like you, are students. We take everything way too seriously. We're too smart for our own good. We're plain Janes with frizzy hair, and this is our only outlet for our fantasies. We're extremely passionate about what we do, and we don't let anything stand in our way. And our boyfriends and husbands make Ron Weasley look like a sex god. Indeed, Miss Granger..._you_ are our _heroine_."

Hermione blushes uncontrollably and fidgets quite a bit with the hem of her skirt. "So," she says at last, "I'm in a fic."

"It could be worse," Inell tells her. "You _could_ be living in reality."

"Until ten minutes ago, I thought this _was_ reality!"

"Are you kidding? You have perfect grades, every guy at Hogwarts wants a piece of you, and the world is at your mercy! What do you have to be worried about?"

"Er...there's always the fact that I'm a Muggle-born witch in the middle of a war for pureblood domination."

"Tut, tut," says Inell, shaking her head. "This is fanfiction, Hermione. The only danger you face is your own damn prudishness."

"WHAT?!"

"Just imagine.... Here we are.... No one is concerned about the Dark Arts because violence is secondary to sex. You don't have to worry about pregnancy or disease because you've got all kinds of charms to counter it. School doesn't matter because you'll only be going to classes when it fits in with the romance plot. And you could break every rule in the book, and you'd only get detention...(preferably with Malfoy, of course.) And we all know that either Gryffindor or love will rule supreme in the end."

"Hmmm..." Hermione mumbles, finally realising the possibilities.

"And all of that isn't even comparable to the _real_ joy of being a fanfic character."

"What's the real joy, then?" Hermione asks hesitantly.

Inell simply smirks and clicks her pen. With a wink, she replies knowingly, "Unlimited virginity, of course."


End file.
